I can’t do this anymore.
Against all odds she began to find a glimmer of hope. She started to plan her escape in earnest, seeing a way out of her situation. As her stomach grew larger and larger with the baby, so did her ideas. But she still lacked the courage to actually fulfill any of them.
Will they kill me if I try and fail? Will they harm any of the children?
She knew now that all of her children lived in the house. Every time they played in the garden, she put her ear to the door to listen for their yells and laughter and sometimes cries. She knew instinctively it was them. She recognized her children anywhere. And that gave her strength to go on.
Kitty knew she had to move quickly if she wanted to make a successful escape. She knew the door to the shed only opened once a day, when they brought her food and changed her bucket. That was her only chance if she was to get out of there, with her baby, and alive.
As the days crawled by, Kitty grew more and more anxious. She knew the baby would come soon. That’s when she remembered the tiny rusty nail she had found under the bed. She had found it a few months ago all the way in the back against the wall. It had been lodged in the wood, but slowly made its way out and loose enough for her to wiggle it free. Yet she didn’t know what to do with it. But now she saw its potential.
Kitty waited patiently until she felt she was close to giving birth. She lay in bed, pretending to sleep, while listening intently for any movement outside. She knew no one would be worried about her—she was so big, no one would think she was capable of much. She heard the bolt slide back on the door and the creak of the hinges as it was opened. The soft footsteps of Damian were barely audible, but she could hear them, nonetheless. She peeked through her half-closed eyes and saw him, then closed them again fast.
Thinking she was asleep, he put the tray of food down, then exchanged the bucket and put another one down. As he went about his routine, Kitty reached under the bed and retrieved the nail. She held it tightly in her hand, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And then, it came. Damian approached her, then bent down to change her bucket, just as Kitty lunged forward, the nail held tightly in her hand.
With a swift motion, she plunged the nail deep into Damian’s neck. He gasped, his hands reaching up to grasp at the wound, but it was too late. Kitty was on her feet, stomping out the open door, out into the fresh air and freedom she had only been dreaming about for years and years. As she ran, she felt the weight of her unborn child bearing down on her, making her wince with pain. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t afford to. This was it.
She was free.
SIXTY-NINEBILLIE ANN
I didn’t sleep at all that night, and the next morning the kids barely spoke to me. I made them pancakes because it was Sunday and their dad wasn’t there to do it, and they ate, but barely said a word. At least not to me. They kept their eyes down on their food, or their phones, and for once I let them have them at the table. Because it made it easier on me. Fewer questions that way.
As I cleaned up the kitchen, I tried to think of how I could make it up to my children. How I could explain to them what had happened and how it was for the best. But their father had been their rock, their protector. He had always been there to pick them up when they fell, and now he was gone. And it was all my fault.
But as the day went on, their silence became more and more deafening. It was like a constant reminder that I had destroyed our family. I wanted to talk to them, to explain why I had done what I had done, but every time I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I couldn’t admit that I was the one who had called the police on their dad.
I decided to take a walk to clear my head. I needed to refocus. I had a child to find, a killer to stop. I ended up at the beach, the one place that had always brought me peace. I sat on the sand and watched the waves crash against the shore. It was a peaceful sight, but my mind was anything but peaceful.
I still couldn’t stop thinking about Emma, the child who didn’t exist anywhere. Why would anyone keep their child hidden? Out of fear, of course. Out of fear of losing her, of someone finding them. It could be an abusive ex-husband or father or both. But what if it was more than that?
The fact was, I needed to know who Marissa Clemens was running from and why.
I got up, then went back to my car and drove to her address. I knocked on her door, but no one answered. I knocked again. Still no answer. I tried the handle, and, to my surprise, the door was unlocked. I peered inside. The house was dimly lit, and the air inside was thick with a musty smell. I called out Marissa’s name, but there was no answer.
“Hello? Marissa? Emma?”
Nothing. I could tell that no one had been in the house for a very long time. The bread on the counter was moldy, the fruit left out was rotten and the milk in the fridge smelled awful when I opened it.
Where had she gone? I walked to her room and saw her clothes in the closet. She had left a pair of earrings on the dresser and not taken her toothbrush. If she had left, it had been in a hurry. She hadn’t taken anything, it seemed.
It was odd. I called Tom when I got home.
“That is very strange indeed,” he said. “What do you make of it?”
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “We know she was running from something or someone. She definitely hasn’t been home for a while. I know Perez is looking like our killer, but that doesn’t mean there’s not something else going on here. Even if you don’t think her child is real, this woman is in danger.”
There was a moment of silence before Tom spoke again. “All right, we will have to look into it. But be careful, we don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”
“I know.”
I ended the call and sat back in my chair, overwhelmed by the mystery that was unfolding before me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was getting in over my head. I stared at the white walls in front of me that definitely needed painting soon, while drinking my coffee, when it hit me.
Emma.
I knew that name rang a bell. Why hadn’t I thought about it before?
Oh dear God!
My heart throbbing in my throat, I rose to my feet, almost tipped my coffee cup over, then grabbed my car keys and ran out the door.
SEVENTYBILLIE ANN
The sun was burning high above me from a clear blue sky, and it was getting hot outside as I pulled into Ridge Manor’s only mobile home park. I killed the engine and looked at the home in front of me, its white facade a stark contrast against the deep blue sky. Suddenly I felt sick, and my stomach tightened into a knot. I hated being back here, I hated it so much. I hated being reminded of that time in my life.
Yet it was hard not to think of it now, while standing there again. Just like I had the first time we went there together to talk to the mother. Travis had brought me in on the case, and he had wanted me to shadow him. Train me if you will. He had deliberately asked for me, for the Chief to put me on the case with him. I had been so excited. Beyond ecstatic. This was it. The beginning of my career. My first big case. This was one that made national headlines. The disappearance of a young girl on her way to school. It meant the world to me that he asked me to join the investigation. That he believed in me. Me. A young girl with no experience. I remember feeling so proud. I felt like I owed him everything for giving me the chance.
And apparently, he felt the same way.
I got out of the car and took a deep breath, hoping it would calm my nerves. The air was humid and heavy and smelled faintly of newly cut grass, but it did nothing to soothe me. I could almost feel the memories rising up, overwhelming me.
My mouth went dry, and my heart raced as I climbed the stairs that led to the front door. I heard the distinct echo of my footsteps against the steps, an unwelcome reminder of the frustration I had felt the last time I went up them.
I took in a deep breath, then opened the screen and knocked on the door behind it. It was so hot standing on the porch waiting for the answer. I almost wanted to run away, to get back into my car and drive away, but I didn’t. The exterior of the mobile home was faded and worn, and its paint had been chipped away by time, leaving only dull shades of blues and grays. The windows were hazy and cracked, and it was obvious that no one had taken care of anything for years.
In back of the home was a child’s wooden swing, hung from a tree that had grown wild and overgrown, unused for many years.
The door creaked open, and a small face appeared. She looked worn out. Like she was tired of life. Her cheeks sunken, deep furrowed lines in them and around the eyes. Seeing her again made my heart sink. I remembered those eyes. I remembered them so well as they begged me to help her find her daughter.
